Sunday, May 8, 2011

The art of falling in love

A friend's classy new job at an address like Express Towers, Nariman Point signals a perfect opportunity to down pitchers of draught beer on a balmy Sunday early evening at Quench, a place that wud be far outside the reaches of my own humble shallow pocket.

But what I find most impressive is not the cutesy clever decor but this emblazoned near the entrance, a charming tragicomic poem, by WB Yeats no less.

A Drinking Song

Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That's all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
I look at you, and I sigh.

Now, I wonder if this is to encourage Eurodecadent present-day Devdas-wannabes or if it was written with reference to the unbelievably cute-but-interesting male eye candy on view, as Brunch delightfully informs us.

Either way, I like being this way. Not even close to drunk, but happily buzzing. Ah, Yeats, friends and draught beer. What more can one ask from life on a Sunday?


Deboleena said...

Life is getting increasingly about the little things, is it not? I don't know if it's us aging or the world. Everything hinges on finding that one speck of joy to endure the week. Happy Sunday :)

Sakshi said...


Ramya said...

Ah, the happy highs of life :) Love the verse!

S. Susan Deborah said...

What more, dear Karishma?

Joy always,

Tangled up in blue... said...

Sugar Magnolia, yes, one little thing to keep one going is all one needs. :)

Sakshi, :)

ramya, me too! I cudnt believe I'd found something so amazing near the entrance to what is typically a lounge bar and no more than that. I loved the verse right away!

Susan, joy always, indeed! :)

R said...

Love the verse...what is love without a sigh ..and some wine